


Twenty Minute Warning

by deandoesthingstome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/M, Fucking, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandoesthingstome/pseuds/deandoesthingstome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when a hunt takes you to a swanky hotel for an auction or charity event, Dean likes to get frisky in the lobby bathroom with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Minute Warning

If there was one thing you loved about swanky hotel bathrooms, it was the fact that the walls between the stalls were solid and the doors went all the way to the floor.

If a hunt required attendance at a ball or gala to swipe key cards from a guard or chat up an unsuspecting mark for details about one cursed object or another, you always took the opportunity to dress in a slinky little number that would be sure to turn heads. If Dean got a little jealous and needed to make sure you knew he was still totally entranced by your charms or didn’t want you to get twisted about the flirting he would be doing with the high society ladies, he’d casually brush against you on the way to the buffet table, squeezing your left elbow gently. This was your twenty minute warning.

After making your apologies to whatever lecherous old man or debonair bachelor had attached himself to you, you tugged at your right ear as you headed toward the lobby. Dean always maneuvered just as deftly behind you.

When he snuck in after you, waiting the required fifteen seconds you needed to confirm you’d be the only two in the room of six or so stalls, and another ten or so seconds for him to make sure no one was paying attention to some well-dressed gentleman entering the wrong bathroom, you would be waiting for him in the last stall as always agreed upon.

As he shut the stall door carefully behind him, you would be hiking up your dress, revealing either the tiniest black lace thong that he would inevitably be ripping off soon anyway or perhaps nothing at all, which was usually how you preferred to be dressed for such occasions.

What was great about the stalls, besides the depth, which meant you didn’t have to worry about straddling the toilet to make space, was the fact that you also didn’t have to worry about someone walking in to the main room and seeing two sets of feet below metal walls.

Dean could press you against either solid wall of the stall, fingers probing gently, or impatiently if he was feeling especially concerned that you had somehow forgotten how much he loved making you cum. The floors were always clean, sparkling really, so there was no worry about the knees of his suit pants when he backed you against the locked door and knelt in front of you, tongue darting recklessly into your core and pressing against your clit.

Sure the door was made of angled wooden slats, but you could handle your head against the uneven surface for the short while it took Dean to wrap his lips around your swollen nub and plunge one or several fingers deep inside you, searching constantly for the spot that would make you squeal against the back of your hand as you came.

When he was wiping his face with the handkerchief you always remembered to tuck into his inside jacket pocket, you would be tugging at his head, fingers ruffling his hair, urging him to stand. Depending on whether or not either of you had noticed anyone else entering the bathroom, you’d either call it quits, which was not fine with Dean since all he ever really wanted to do besides kill demons or banish ghosts or behead vampires was to make you cum as often as he could, or proceed to the next obvious act.

Maybe just a prolonged make out session where you would take your time tasting yourself on his lips and sucking the juice off his tongue while you stroked his throbbing cock and jacked him off inside his boxer briefs.

Or maybe he’d take off his jacket, turn it inside out and set it folded on the ground to give you a semi-soft surface to kneel on while you took him deep inside your mouth, tongue moistening the way for your lips, cheeks hollowed. You always strove to take him to the hilt, loving the moans he tried to suppress as he hit the back of your throat. Reveling in the feel of his fingers tangled in your hair as he bucked against your face, trying desperately to steady the stuttering of his hips when he came in your mouth.

If you felt really adventurous, you’d place your hands against one side wall while Dean shifted behind you, fumbling in his pocket for a condom. Once sheathed, he’d press up into you, hands squeezing your breasts urgently and lips sweeping over your neck as he moved to growl low in your ear, always telling you what a good girl you were or how fucking hot you looked or reminding you that he couldn’t really treat you the way he wanted in this confined space and how he’d be sure to spread you wide in the bed tonight when he ate you out again and how amazing your legs would look draped over his shoulders while he drilled into you.

By the time you exited the stall, there might be one or two ladies standing at the sink. You’d apologize for monopolizing the space and comment that something you ate was not agreeing with you at all. That you felt flushed and feverish and really just wanted to find your date so he could take you home. But, oh dear, you just needed to sit on the comfortable leather bench opposite the full wall mirror for a moment and catch your breath. And how sweet it was of them to offer to try to find your date; he really couldn’t be missed, he was probably the tallest man with long, brown locks they’d ever seen.

When the hopefully unsuspecting women went off in search of your fake date, you’d take the opportunity to sneak Dean out, leaving first to make sure no one else was headed in at the moment.

As Dean headed back to the ballroom, Sam would be exiting the glitzy affair, flanked by two swooning ladies who had completely forgotten that something seemed more off about your demeanor than just a little food poisoning. Sam had that effect on women, and although he sometimes tired of being your life saver, gently rolling his eyes as Dean passed by, he never hesitated to give you his arm and lead you out to the valet stand. He would either lean to whisper in your ear that the deed was done or pull out his cell to text Dean the next location or target to scout out as he handed the valet stub to the driver.

Sometimes he’d be a little shit and ask you if you got everything you needed as well.

When Sam had deposited you in the back seat, still keeping up the sick girlfriend ruse, he’d pull around back and pick up Dean, letting him take over driving duties. And you’d eye Dean lasciviously in Baby’s rear view mirror while Sam groaned and asked if you two could stop for like, just the amount of time it would take to make it back to the motel.

And Dean would wink at you in the mirror and tell Sam to stop being such a prude. And Sam would remind you that you needed to get a separate room for the night, which had been your plan all along anyway.


End file.
